The Great Purge: Making Room for What's Next

I accidentally started the great purge.

Dang, it feels good.

It started innocently enough, with a question to one of the kids about the family photos. Since I'm driving back west, I figured I should pack them up and pass them down. Seems reasonable, right?

Except to get to the photos, I had to get to the back of the utility closet.

And so it began. 😂

The utility closet got cleaned out. Amazon boxes went into the recycling. (Seriously, why do we keep so many of those things?) I finally got rid of some of the last odds and ends I never knew what to do with from my former life as a married woman raising children. There was office crap, some of it dating back to the 1990s, and more junk lurking in the office closet.

Then I moved on to clothes. Work clothes I haven't touched in five years or more. Shoes. Boots. Things I kept because I might need them someday, even though apparently someday never arrived.

There's still an hour or so of work waiting for me in the garage, including some things I'm taking back west to drop off. But already, I feel lighter.

Oh, and someone is finally feeling so much better. I think that might have something to do with my sudden enthusiasm for getting things done, too. When you've been feeling lousy for a while, having the energy to tackle something that's been hanging over your head feels pretty damn good.

And now that I've gotten started, I'm asking myself a question I've probably been avoiding for years.

Why do we hang on to so much stuff?

I'm Not a Hoarder. I Just Have Really Good Reasons for Keeping Everything.

I don't consider myself a packrat or a hoarder. I like knickknacks, but I hate clutter. Everything has to be neat and have a place. I'm perfectly happy surrounded by things I love, provided those things aren't taking over my living space.

My ex, on the other hand, was what I'd consider a hoarder. He may still be. Who knows? 😂 Fortunately for me, his accumulation tendencies were mostly confined to the garage and the spare bedroom. Out of sight, out of mind. Thanks for that!

One of my adopted kids has similar tendencies. She's just like her dad. You'd almost think he was her biological father. 😂

But in all seriousness, I think there's a difference between enjoying things, collecting things, and being unable to let them go.

Most of what I've held on to has had sentimental value or some perceived usefulness in the future. Maybe I might need it. Maybe I'd regret getting rid of it. Maybe there was a memory attached to it that made throwing it away feel wrong.

And sometimes, there's guilt.

Guilt over getting rid of something someone gave you. Guilt over throwing away something that cost good money. Guilt over letting go of something that once belonged to a life you worked hard to build.

We can attach an awful lot of meaning to our possessions.

But at some point, I have to wonder: Am I keeping this because it still has a place in my life, or because I haven't figured out how to let it go?

The Psychology of Keeping Stuff

Are we lazy? Sometimes, probably. I can certainly admit that a lot of what I've moved from California to Oregon, Arizona, and Florida was moved simply because I didn't want to deal with it.

Think about that for a minute.

Instead of making a decision about something, I packed it up and moved it. Then I unpacked it, stored it, packed it again, and moved it somewhere else.

That's a lot of effort to avoid making a decision.

But I don't think laziness explains all of it.

Sometimes we keep things because they represent a version of ourselves we aren't ready to release. Sometimes an object connects us to a person, a memory, or a period of our lives that mattered deeply. Sometimes we keep things because we believe that letting go of the object somehow diminishes the experience attached to it.

And sometimes we simply don't know what comes next.

There's comfort in keeping things familiar, even when those things no longer serve us. We might not need the old office supplies, the clothes from a job we left years ago, or the box of miscellaneous household items. But making a decision about them means acknowledging that something has changed.

Getting rid of things can be surprisingly emotional. It asks us to decide what still belongs in our lives and what doesn't.

And if you're someone who has spent a lifetime taking care of other people, raising children, managing a household, and preparing for every possible contingency, letting go of things can feel downright irresponsible.

What if someone needs it? What if I need it? What if I regret it?

Meanwhile, the stuff sits there, waiting for a future that may never come.

When Your Life Changes but Your Stuff Doesn't

These questions really started coming up when my ex and I began downsizing from a household that sometimes included ten people, although seven was more typical.

Can you imagine the amount of stuff we had?

There were children, belongings, clothes, school supplies, household necessities, keepsakes, and all the miscellaneous things that accumulate when a house is full of people living full lives.

When you're responsible for a family, you become accustomed to holding on to things. Children grow. Needs change. Someone might need that extra bed, that old computer, or the box of supplies you tucked away because throwing perfectly good things out seems wasteful.

And then the children grow up. The household gets smaller. Your circumstances change.

But the stuff doesn't necessarily go anywhere.

You can downsize your house without downsizing your possessions. You can move into a smaller space while still carrying the contents of a much larger life.

And that's exactly what I did, in more ways than one.

Every move gave me an opportunity to deal with things, but I didn't always take it. Sometimes I was too busy dealing with the immediate demands of life. Sometimes I was overwhelmed. Sometimes I just wanted to get on with whatever came next.

So I kept moving things.

From one state to another. From one house to another. From one chapter of my life to another.

Eventually, I had to ask myself how much longer I wanted to keep doing that.

When Less Really Does Feel Like More

There's another reason this great purge feels so good. As I get closer to retirement, I'm finding myself even more drawn to the idea of living with a smaller footprint.

I've already rebuilt my life without a lot of the stuff I once thought I needed. And you know what? I enjoy it.

I have what I need. I'm comfortable. I'm safe. I don't feel the need to fill every available space with things just because there's room for them.

Don't get me wrong. I still enjoy my treasures and my knickknacks. I'm not about to become some sort of minimalist who owns three plates, one chair, and a houseplant. 😂 I like having personality in my space. I just don't want the stuff to become the point.

There's something freeing about realizing you can be perfectly content without hauling around the physical remnants of every chapter of your life.

And as retirement gets closer, I find myself thinking more about what I actually want the next chapter to look like. Less maintenance. Less responsibility for things I don't need. More freedom to decide where I want to go and how I want to spend my time.

Of course, there are a few things I wouldn't mind adding to my life. A private backyard and a swimming pool, for instance. I'm still in Florida, after all. 😂

But that's the distinction, isn't it? There's a difference between accumulating things because we feel compelled to keep them and choosing something that genuinely adds to our quality of life.

I'm not trying to live with nothing. I'm trying to make room for the life I want.

And right now, that life doesn't require nearly as much stuff as I once thought it did.

The Move I Never Saw Coming

When I left Tucson in 2023, I packed what I could into my Nissan Rogue and headed out with my cat, my work bags full of computers, a few treasured possessions, and my personal belongings. I left behind a 5x8 storage which I ended up transporting to Florida in a van.

That was it.

I didn't have a clear picture of my future.

And that was unusual for me.

For most of my life, I'd experienced what I can only describe as a claircognizant knowing about where I was headed. I'd seen Oregon. I'd seen Arizona, Sedona, Tucson. I'd even seen myself in a retirement community.

But I hadn't seen Florida in quite the same way.

I was leaving Tucson because I needed to get away from the harassment I'd endured for years, beginning when I lived in Sedona, (and why I moved to Tucson). I wanted distance. I wanted peace. I wanted to be somewhere I could breathe and begin again.

I wasn't following a detailed plan for my future. I was following the need to get out and find some peace. I researched multiple destinations for months while my house waited to sell. It sold quickly when I relisted it. I had 30 days to be out then I was off. I stopped in a few places along the journey that called to me. Nowhere felt aligned with the vibe I was waiting to feel.

And now here I am. I knew this was my vibe I was meant to experience, the moment the Rogue crossed the Florida state line.

Florida wasn't a destination I had envisioned in the same way as the others, yet my life has transformed since I arrived. I'm still happy. I've built a life that feels like mine, and I have no complaints about where the road took me.

In a strange way, I sometimes think the person who stalked and harassed me to such a degree deserves a thank-you.

Not for the harassment. Not for the fear, disruption, or pain it caused.

But because the circumstances forced me to make a change I might never have made otherwise.

I don't say that to minimize what happened. I say it because I can acknowledge the damage something caused without denying what I eventually built beyond it.

Sometimes the life waiting for us is not the life we imagined.

Sometimes we have to leave before we know where we're going.

And sometimes, the things we thought we needed to carry with us turn out to be far less important than we believed.

The Next Chapter Is Still a Mystery

Of course, just when I start getting comfortable with the idea of simplifying my life, life has a way of introducing new possibilities.

With my son moving to the East Coast, I've started thinking about moving north myself. Not necessarily to the same state or right down the road, but close enough that visiting doesn't require an elaborate travel plan. A day's drive would be nice.

And just like that, the possibilities are wide open again.

Where might I want to live? What would I like my retirement years to look like? What kind of town would feel like home? Could I find a place near the water, with a little more privacy, maybe even that elusive backyard and swimming pool? 😂

Who knows?

I'm certainly not making any decisions just yet. There's time to figure it out, and I intend to take advantage of that time. I need some road trips to explore a few places, get a feel for different communities, and see what resonates with me.

I'm open to moving north to be closer to my son, but I'm also open to wherever the universe leads me, even if that means staying right here in Florida. I'm not attached to a particular outcome. I want to explore the possibilities, pay attention to what unfolds, and trust that I'll know what, where and when the time is right.

I've learned that there's a big difference between imagining a place and actually experiencing it. Sometimes you arrive somewhere and immediately know it's not for you (Eureka Springs). Other times, a place you never considered surprises you (the whole East Coast).

That's how Florida happened, after all.

When I left Tucson in 2023, I had no clear vision of where I was headed. Now, as I look toward retirement, I'm once again entertaining possibilities without knowing which one will ultimately call to me. It would have to be pretty spectacular. I do LOVE it here.

Maybe that's one of the unexpected gifts of getting older. You begin to understand that you don't have to have every answer in advance. You can explore. You can change your mind. You can let the next chapter unfold without trying to control every detail.

Maybe It's Time to Put Some Things Down

Which brings me back to my utility closet.

I started this whole process because I wanted to pass along some family photos. That was the practical reason. But once I started opening closets and sorting through boxes, I realized how good it felt to make decisions I'd been putting off.

I'm not suggesting we all need to throw everything away and embrace a minimalist lifestyle. That's not me. I like my treasures. I like my knickknacks. I like having things around me that make my home feel personal.

And I'm certainly not suggesting that everyone who holds on to things has some deep psychological issue. Sometimes a box is just a box, and sometimes keeping something is a perfectly reasonable choice.

But there's a difference between keeping something because it matters to you and keeping it because you haven't gotten around to deciding what to do with it.

There's a difference between honoring your past and storing every physical reminder of it.

There's a difference between being prepared for the future and letting an imaginary future dictate what you do with your present.

I'm not finished. There's still the garage to tackle, and I'm sure I'll discover a few more things I've been hauling around for no particularly good reason.

But for now, I'm enjoying the feeling.

One closet, one box, one decision at a time.

I'm making room for the life I have now, while leaving space for whatever comes next.

I have no idea where that next chapter will take me. Maybe north. Maybe I'll stay right here in Florida. Maybe there's a place I've never even considered waiting for me to discover it.

I don't need to know.

Dang, it feels good.

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